


Face the Music

by she_who_recs



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, B2MEM, B2MEM 2019, Canon Temporary Character Death, Crack, F/M, Halls of Mandos, Humor, anachronic sing-along, annoying Valar for fun and profit, she knows a song that gets on EVERYBODY'S nerves, tra-la-la-lally EXPLAINED!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 03:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_recs/pseuds/she_who_recs
Summary: One time only in the history of Arda, by Luthien's song, was Mandos moved to pity....Self-pity counts, right?





	Face the Music

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Dawn Felagund for her help with Mandos's dialogue.

                And Luthien sang before Mandos, the song most sorrowful that ever the world had heard. For she wove two themes of words, of the sorrows of the Eldar and the grief of Men. As she knelt before him her tears fell upon the stones at his feet like rain.

                And then Mandos spoke and his voice was like stones being placed upon a cairn: “So has it been since the first Discord, ere the making of the world. For the Marring of Arda is yet unhealed and sorrow and strife are the lot of her inhabitants. Thou art not the first to have suffered, daughter of Melian, and thou shalt not be the last.”

And Luthien sang a second song, of loss and partings. She sang of the Circles of the World, wherein Elves must endure until its end while Men must pass beyond, of final and unending separation. Her head was bowed nearly to the ground, her tears spotting Mandos’s socks.

And Mandos spoke a second time, saying: “Thy love and thy grief are not in doubt. And yet, love and grief alone shall not suffice to annul the decree of the One. For He hath appointed a place for Men that even the Valar know not, and all thy tears cannot keep thy beloved with thee.”

               And Luthien sang a third time. This song had no words but was the raw plea of her spirit, her desperation made music. She could see some of the maiar surreptitiously wiping their eyes. But Mandos remained unmoved and bade her to return to living world and cease troubling the Dead.

               And Luthien was starting to get annoyed, and she stood to her feet. And she sang a song she had overheard a few times while Mablung was in his cups, “Mighty Are The Boles Of Doriath”. At the top of her lungs she informed the Halls of the Dead of the exceptional height and girth of Sindarin trees, and how they were so much more enjoyable to climb than Nandorin wood.

               “Daughter of Melian,” said Mandos, “What doest thou mean with this… childishness?”

               _Childishness_? thought Luthien, irritably. _I’ll show you childishness_. And she straightened her spine and sang again: “ _One hundred and forty-four bottles of miruvor on the wall, one hundred forty-four bottles of miruvor…_ ”  
  

 

               “ _…take one down, pass it around, zero bottles of miruvor on the wall._ ” Luthien stood back and glared at Mandos.

               The Vala looked almost bemused, an expression Luthien doubted he often wore. “Such impertinence will not serve to avail thee.”

“ _The hairy-scary spider climbed up to eat the light_

_Down came the Trees, and in swept deepest night_

_Up came the Moon, and after him the Sun_

_And the hairy-scary spider was forced to cut and run.”_

“Still the answer is no, child.”

“ _I’m Finwe the First, I am, I am_

_I’m Finwe the First, I am_

_I got married to the Vanya next door_

_We’ve both married seven times before_

_But no one here seems to give a damn_

_I’m Finwe the First, I am, I am.”_

“Still no.”

              “ _The stars up above wheel round and round_

_Round and round, round and round_

_The stars up above wheel round and round_

_All through the sky.”_

“No.”

               “Be that way,” said Luthien. “I’m not done. _This is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on, my friends…_ ”  
  

 

               “ _…some ellyn started singing it, not knowing what it was…”_

               By the (at her best guess) eight hundredth round, Luthien was starting to wonder if she’d made a mistake.

               “ _…continue singing it forever just because: this is the song that…"_

               Had she been present in body as well as fay, her throat would have long given out. As it was, her spirit was starting to feel a sympathetic vocal strain.

               _“…and on, my friends. Some ellyn started singing it not…”_

The song was starting to wear on herself as much as Mandos. More, perhaps; the Vala’s face was returning to its previous preternatural calm, as if lulled by the repetition.

_“…what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just…”_

               But what else could she do? What song did she know that had a finite length but was as pernicious as a splinter between the toes? What could possibly be more maddening than several hours straight of _The Song That Never Ends_? Luthien cast her mind’s eye back to her misspent childhood _…_

_Oh yes._ Yes. She had it.

               “ _…this is the song… that… never…_ ” She trailed off, and for a moment there was only silence. Mandos’s masklike mien held just the faintest impression of relief, and he opened his mouth–

               –And Luthien sang a final time, the song most annoying that ever the world shall hear. Utterly inane were her words and earsplitting was her voice. The shades of the Dead trembled and hastily stuffed spectral fingers in their remembered earholes. The maiar’s faces darkened and they turned away. The walls rattled as if seeking escape. And as Luthien finished the third verse, Mandos arose from his throne.

               “OUT!” roared the Doomsman of Arda. “NOW!”

               “Not without Beren–“

               “Then take him! JUST! GO!”

               Luthien grabbed Beren’s bewildered spirit and ran.  
  
 

 

               Though Luthien is passed beyond the Circles of the World, her memory is not forgotten among the Eldar, nor has she been diminished in esteem. Her line holds their foremother in greatest honor, and it is said that, to this day, her words can betimes be heard on their lips:

                                        “ _…O! Tra-la-la-lally_

_Here down in the valley!_

_Ha! Ha!”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Credit and/or blame for the "annoy Mandos into compliance" plotbunny goes to Drag0nst0rm's "Scion of Somebody, Probably".


End file.
